Lunchtime
by pettypettycoat
Summary: They all have their own tastes. [Oneshot. Prompt fic. Mildly cracky.]


**Inspired by missyterum's prompt: "Each member of Organization XIII has a distinct appearance and personality. Their dining habits are no different." Hope you like it, missy.**

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"If you are _that_ devoted to stealing someone else's lunch, look elsewhere before I am forced to impale you."

"C'mon, Xaldin. Be a pal and help me out."

Saïx stares straight ahead with his arms crossed as he struggles to ignore the fight brewing directly behind him. Marluxia stares back from his seat across the dining table, smiling pleasantly with his chin perched atop his laced fingers.

"You hate leeks," Xaldin says.

Xigbar snorts. "Yeah, but I hate cooking more. Gimme."

A gust of air, a shriek of wind as the first lance materializes. Saïx stiffly tucks his hair back into place.

"Alright, geez." There's a clatter of glass as Xigbar pulls the refrigerator open. "Nothing looks good."

Saïx hears the soft scrape of a wooden spoon against a metal pot as Xaldin goes back to stirring his soup. "That is not my problem."

"You suck."

"I can live knowing that."

Something sloshes in a container as Xigbar pulls it out of the refrigerator door. "Is Lexaeus back on those protein shakes again? Those things taste like cat barf."

Xaldin sets down the spoon with a soft click and ladles the soup into a bowl. "I suppose only you would know."

"Shut up, smartass." More clattering from the fridge. "Hey, Vexen actually found some fresh salmon. Good for him! Hope he cooked it right."

Xaldin finally steps into Saïx's field of vision as he goes to wash the pot and utensils in the sink. He speaks without looking up. "I am not responsible for any damage he inflicts on your person when he discovers you've stolen his food."

Xigbar snorts. "Wouldn't be the first time. Even threw a fit anytime Braig so much as _looked_ at his stuff. You have any idea how hard it was to get fresh seafood in Radiant Garden?"

Xaldin dries the dishes meticulously and sets them into their proper place in the cabinets. "Quite, but I would think _that_ —" he gestures to the steak left to defrost on the countertop "—would be more suited to your tastes."

"Dude, Saïx is _right there_."

Marluxia's smile widens ever so slightly, but he says nothing. Xaldin just grabs his soup and teleports out without another word.

"What're _you_ smiling about, rose garden?" Xigbar saunters into view, holding a half-eaten square of pink salmon in one hand and a small plate in the other.

"That is none of your concern," Marluxia says.

"Uh huh. Go cry into a salad, ya hippie." Xigbar dunks the plate in the sink before turning to face Saïx. "Enjoy your steak, Fido," he says, and licks his fingers clean before disappearing in a rush of shadows.

Marluxia considers him from across the table for some time before flattening his hands against its surface and pushing himself up. He crosses to the now-unoccupied stovetop with slow, deliberate steps and pulls a pan from the cabinet below. "Do you plan on eating soon?" he asks as he gently sets down a plate.

Saïx doesn't answer, just continues staring straight ahead as something sizzles on the pan behind him. In a matter of minutes, the pan is washed and Marluxia is sitting across from him again, elegantly cutting into a rare steak with his own fine silverware.

"I would think such a meal would be beneath you," Saïx says.

Marluxia laughs softly, an airy sound that makes the hairs on the back of Saïx's neck prick up. "If you're talking about those overcooked masses of processed bovine parts the other members like to call steak, then yes, it is beneath me." He cuts the meat into triangles and gracefully spears one with his fork. "But _this_ is the finest cut available; a feast for lords and ladies flavored with garlic and sea salt and left unsullied by the touch of fire." He chews it with relish. "Why would I feed my body anything less?"

Saïx's lips twitch, his equivalent of a sneer. He pushes away from the table and goes to the refrigerator, opening it and pulling out his own lunch to find it chilled just the way he likes it. He sets the platter down on the table and seats himself to eat.

"I must say," Marluxia says with a smirk, "our resident berserker is the very _last_ person I would have expected to be a vegan."

"I like the crunch," Saïx deadpans, carefully arranging the vegetable platter into sections.

Marluxia's condescending smile darkens ever so slightly. "If only we were all so fortunate. _You_ hear a crunch. _I_ hear the dying screams of my element."

"I know," Saïx says, and looks him right in the eyes as he bites into a stick of celery.


End file.
